


Nocturnal

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [41]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nocturnal: adjective: näkˈtərnl: done, occurring, or active at night.</p><p>late 15th century: from late Latin nocturnalis, from Latin nocturnus ‘of the night,’ from nox, noct- ‘night.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturnal

He had been nocturnal as long as John could remember; he supposed that the world became quieter, the thoughts and music came easier as the moon rose.

Even as their relationship changed, John realized that Sherlock's basic nature was unchangeable. He became softer at the edges, less biting in his remarks to those he came in contact with, but essentially, he was still the same cranky, brilliant arse that he met at Bart's all those years ago. He still played the violin at inconvenient hours, talked to John for hours at a time after John had left for work, and was maddeningly silent when working through a case. 

But there was something in the way he would look at John as they gently made love after a case was finished. Something in his smile, in his sighs, and in the way he would whisper John's name as he came; it didn't matter that he knew once he had fallen asleep Sherlock would quietly extricate himself from John's arms and return to whatever puzzle he was currently working on. Every morning, without fail, there would be hot tea, made exactly as John preferred it, and every once in a while, he would open his eyes to a mess of dark curls, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.

"Solved it, then?" John would whisper.

"Mmmmm...quite simple, just needed to sit with it a bit." He would then push the curls away from his eyes in order to get a good look at his blogger; usually unwrap him from the duvet and silently find all of those places, the places he had discovered after years of study. Even now, he could still surprise him.

"Sher-"  
"Shhhhh, I've got you, let go, love."  
On these mornings, John would call in sick and spend the day and night simply being with his mad flatmate, arguing over what take-away they wanted, or what crap telly they were to watch. Mostly, they turned off their phones, ignored the doorbell (when it wasn't in the freezer) and stayed wrapped in and around each other.

"I-"  
"I know-"  
"You didn't know what I was going to say."  
"Yes, I did, you get that look."  
"What look?"  
"Your nose crinkles, and your eyes turn more green every time you tell me you love me."  
"Oh. Well. I do."  
"I know."  
"How?"  
"Because you are here. You could so easily be elsewhere. Some days it still amazes me to find you here with me."  
"Why?"  
"I thought some day you'd get bored of me."  
"Never."

They would have conversations like this every once in a while, mostly because it was what they did. And at night, when Sherlock would slip out of bed, he would always whisper, "I do, you know. Always." John would always whisper back. "I know."


End file.
